The breeder
by Wallace Fee
Summary: The man behind the secret of the chamber
**Author's note: Hi, everyone! This is my first fanfiction. A good friend of mine told me I could publish it in this page, so I hope it works.** **Please tell me your opinion. Thanks for reading. Enjoy.**

 **The Breeder**

The hooded wanderer found it hard to believe someone could live in a shack like the one he was heading. The room of the left was a pile of debris, and the other one, though still standing, was missing some huge parts of the roof, adding but little protection against the roaring storms that never left that distant moor.

Yet a light was poking from its small round window next to the door, cutting through the twilight darkness.

He's home.

A gentle knock, as if fearing the quaint door would fall otherwise.

"Who is it?" It seemed more like a bark than a question.

"Einarsson? It's Salazar. Open up, now"

A table fell, dropping what sounded like a plate, and all of a sudden, the world turned black. The candle had fallen.

"Oh, darn luck!"

"Don't panic, sir." The man outside drew his long wand from his robes, and pointing it at the window, said: " _Lumos._ "

"Oh, thanks, Mr. Slytherin. Thanks." As he kept on thanking the little light the wand casted, he relit the flame and opened the door, revealing a ragged couch, a hearth, and an almost empty cupboard, all dust-covered from what fell from the roof and the collapsed room.

"Come in, please. I'm sorry. I just can't find my wand among this-"

"Is it ready?" The man asked at once. Though shorter by a head, the dark figure of Salazar Slytherin somehow shaded that of the old man, his wrinkled features and clumsy movements against the poise and conviction of his master's.

He knew he wouldn't like his negative response. Slytherin was one of those who'd love a spell to quicken time, and the grimace his face acquired after it showed both his anger and his despair.

"It is growing perfectly, but the thing takes time." Mr. Einarsson risked. "They only say 'egg' and 'toad', but never mention all other aspects: the features the cave must have, the best species to do it, the time of the year to do it. I mean, if it wasn't for my grandfather- "

Slytherin's hands tugged the sleeves of his coat.

"You told me it will be hatching by now!" His large nose was almost touching the old man's chin, and he could feel the coldness of his anxious breaths.

"Sir, I - "

"You know, I spent months looking for you. In every pub or hostel I stopped, they told me of the things you could do, the marvels you've made." His eyes dug into Einarsson's soul. "I knew you had what I needed. I promised you a great pay once I found you and this God's forgotten land of yours. You told me you could make it. And yet, you're still making me come all the way from Britain, risking my prestige, my image, my bloody life, for nothing!"

He pushed him against the wall, almost breaking his ribs, and then dropped him to the floor, letting him choke in his search for air as he roamed around the place. His breathing soothed again then, and as if negotiating, he turned to face the breeder.

"How much more does it need? Give me numbers."

Mr. Einarsson, his hand at his chest, inhaled deep before he could answer.

"Three... No, two weeks" His dizziness made him look as fragile as his home. "Yes, it'll hatch in two weeks. Yes."

Slytherin didn't take a moment to consider it.

"Take me to the cave. I'm taking it with me."

"What? No, you can't - "

"I'll put it under the castle. I don't know if you think it differently, but for me it's as fine a cave as yours. Take me there."

"But, sir, such a change may - "

"I said, take me there." Now, it was his wand, pointing at him, and not his words, the one that was making the statement. "Please, don't make it harder."

Mr. Einarsson's fright slowly turned into resignation. He gave his master a sad nod.

Slytherin turned his wand from the elder. " _Accio Einarsson's wand_."

The cypress wand flew from under the man's couch and landed at his owner's palms. For a brief moment, the joy of finding it lightened the old man's eyes. Then the shades regained them, for he understood there was no way out now.

"You do well in keeping your breeding places for yourself. Makes you necessary." Einarsson decided not to think of the many layers that comment had. "Out, now."

The moon had come out, but the clouds didn't let it shine. He had left the candle lit for when they returned, and locked the door after they got out.

Slytherin grabbed his arm, and with a swing of his wand, the two men Disapparated.

The three yards that distanced them from the cave were the hardest Salazar ever walked, the falling snow pushing him to the abyss at the side of the path that protrude from the rock cliff, the one at his feet burying him to the height of his hip, the air feeling like cold water as it passed through his nose.

In comparison, the cave felt warm once they made it inside, and a flickering light could be seen coming from its depts.

"I beg your apologies. I don't dare Apparating nearer than that." Einarsson explained as they headed for the light. "The fire over there is for the toad. Keeps it from freezing. There's also a keg hanging above it, always dropping some water on its back so it is moistened."

Brendan Einarsson really liked what he did. His grandfather's words remained intact in his memory, all the methods, all the dangers, all the marvels his endeavors involved. For him, it wasn't wickedness. It was an act of creation, and in spite of the forced exile, of his poverty, of his loneliness, while doing his work, he could feel mighty. He could feel alive.

Still, Slytherin was oblivious of his explanations, just like all the others who had heard them before. His silence was a call to shush and rush.

They went down some carved flights of stairs and finally reached the breeding site, a thin circle of fire around a small iron cage with a huge toad inside, its jowl going up and down, its eyes boringly staring at the new visitors.

Beneath the toad was an eight-inches-long yellow egg.

"As I told you, it's on the verge of hatching. Perhaps it should be better if -"

"What? If we wait?" Slytherin's anger burst as if it had been there for a long time. "Do you think they would wait? No. They won't. They haven't for the last five hundred years. And now those three are planning to let them inside our school! Our school!" His fist sent some small pebbles flying from a near-by salient, and a drop of blood began its way through his middle finger. "No. I'll show them. They can't see it, can't they? We let them in, and the spell books shall feed a new pyre!"

Einarsson had seen his master pride, furious, nervous, but never sad, never weak or worried about the past. He remained silent, watching the man as he vigorously dried his watery eyes with his thumb, and waited for him to ease his grief.

"So," he asked him as he regained his sterness. "How do we get the cage out of here?"

The elder leaned towards it, lit some candles that were attached around it, dropped a little more water from the keg over the toad, and threw the rest to the flaming ring. With a soft pull, he raised the cage from its rocky plinth, careful not to move it too hard.

"This will help until we get to my place. Luckily, I do know how to Dissaparate from here to there. Get a good grip, sir."

He did, and that virgin pore of the earth blurred from their sight.

"You need to get it fast inside your castle," Einarsson pointed out once they returned to his wrecked cabin. "Otherwise the toad will die and the hatching won't be finished."

He handed the cage as they reached the door.

"Oh, I forgot it," he went to the cupboard and brought a sharp, curve knife. "Once it comes out, take out its eyes with this. It has rooster's blood on it. Shall blind it instantly."

"But why would I want a blind killer?"

The old man found it hard to understand the question at first.

"Sir, I don't get it. You asked me to breed it so it could discourage -"

"The time for discouraging is long gone by now. The decision has been made. Now is the time to make them pay for it." He gave the blade back to the aghast breeder, and waited for no more complains. "You'll see your payment soon. Good night, Mr. Einarsson."

Slytherin stepped away from the door and Dissaparated, Einarsson's horrendous thread at his side.

Brendan took a moment before he closed the door. He threw some tinker to the hearth, and once the fire was big enough, put some cabbage and hen bones in the cauldron with boiling water.

His mind was distant, never leaving that place hundreds of miles away where the product of his labor and effort was going to be used in the most villainous way. As he finished his tasteless soup, he realized he wasn't in love with his work anymore.

For the first time, he felt evilness in what he did. And for the first time, he felt his tears wouldn't be enough to wash his sins.

A shadow saw his pain from the window. A shadow that had faded to a near-by meadow just to return by foot and end up all the bonds he had with that house, with that disturbed soul.

A soul that had seen his reasons, that had seen him cry.

The tip of his wand pointed his gray, drowsy head.

" _Obliviate._ "

In his mind, he wished that poor man a good death.

He was there.

Then he wasn't.


End file.
